


Sometimes I Think: Is This the Way I'm Supposed to Be

by sanmyshuno



Series: Haze [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Author doesn't know anything about this kink, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair-pulling, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I think that's it - Freeform, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Smut, No Sex, No orgasm, Omorashi, Over Clothes Hand Job, Piss kink, Probably Light Feeding, Rutting, Safe Sane and Consensual, Stone Top Steve, Sub Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, Watersports, Why Did I Write This?, its too late for this shit, light frottage, light humiliation, light subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 14:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15414705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanmyshuno/pseuds/sanmyshuno
Summary: “I know I’m funny, but you don’t need to go pissing yourself with laughter,” Steve says, sounding and looking more than proud of himself.(All fics in the 'Haze' series can be read in any order, or as a stand-alone).





	Sometimes I Think: Is This the Way I'm Supposed to Be

**Author's Note:**

> ̶I̶ ̶d̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶p̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶k̶.̶  
> Unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own.  
> Title from Tessa Violet’s “Haze”.

It’s been about two weeks, give or take, since Bucky had asked for it, a whispered request into the protective darkness of night time, as if the idea of Steve sleeping was enough to make him feel comfortable with sharing an idea he wouldn’t have the courage to do at any other time.

It's been two weeks since he felt Steve's jagged nails and calloused fingers trace along the line of Bucky's spine, a soft “course, Buck. Anything, you know that,” eating up the silence of the room, somehow louder than the beeping traffic below — because, even at one in the morning, people still seem to be busily out.  

It's been two weeks and Bucky had honestly forgotten about it. He wasn't even too sure the morning after —  _ did he really ask for it or was it just a dream _ ? It's been two weeks and he finally has an answer.  

“Drink up,” Steve says, all too giddy for the time of morning as he throws something on the bed, almost connecting with Bucky. Blind hands search for it sleepily, Bucky not yet awake enough to open his eyes. His fingers touch the damp condensation of a water bottle, not thinking twice before downing the entire bottle in one go — his throat is always so dry in the morning. 

Water drained, Bucky sits up groggily, groaning almost dramatically loud — he ignores the joking huff from Steve — wet hands rubbing the crusts of sleep from his eyes. “ _ Ugh _ , what’s happening?” he asks, speech slurred with tiredness. 

“Nuthin’ you need to worry yourself about,” Steve says with a dismissive wave of a hand. More awake, Bucky notices the plastic mailbag, which perks his interest. Steve is terrible at using computers — especially trying to navigate the internet — so Bucky wonders what’s so special about whatever he saw that made Steve need to go down the rabbit hole of frustration to buy it. Noticing Bucky’s interest, Steve just smiles, ignoring the questioning look. “Get outta here. Breakfast’s ready and I need to make the bed”.

“Don’t wanna,” Bucky whines. He sounds like a child — a  _ brat _ — and the smiles internally at the thought of Steve thinking the same. 

And he must’ve, “don’t care,” he says, “ _ but _ , if you don’t want it,  _ you  _ can make the bed and  _ I  _ can eat”.

The threat’s not as empty as it sounds, and Bucky starts to roll out of the bed, a mess of  _ nope _ s all jumbled together in protest. On his way to the kitchen, Steve does stop Bucky, pressing a soft good morning kiss to the temple. Although, the sweetness of it is slightly lost when Steve laughingly hurries Bucky out of the bedroom with a shove.

Lazy feet slide across the ground, not bothering to pick them up. The news is on —  _ one dead and two injured in disturbing home invasion _ , the anchor says, not sounding disturbed at all — and the little clock in the corner reads 8:27. 

_ It’s too early _ . 

True to his word, breakfast is on the table, alongside a large mug of coffee and another bottle of water. His Webster pack is perched on the edge of the kitchen counter where it usually lives and he pops this morning’s pills into his mouth. Swallowing the handful of pills, Bucky downs a mouthful of water. By the time they’re up to the weather, breakfast is done and both the coffee and water are polished off to.

In the bedroom, the bed’s been made, sheets tucked military tight. Steve smiles up at Bucky, throwing the fluffy pillow on the bed that Bucky had insisted that he needed (it was stupid, sure, but the comfortable fluffiness of it an almost suitable replacement for Steve when he’s gone on a mission). “Stay here. Just…” he says, waving his hands like it would help him find his missing words, “just sit”. He moves Bucky to seat him on the edge of the bed, “don’t move ‘till I say, alright?”

A moment of panic shoots through him, “okay?”

Steve laughs a little, it’s oddly reassuring, “it’s okay. Just be good for me, a’right?”

Of course he’s going to try and be good for Steve. “Okay,” he says, more confident with his answer this time.

“Good”. That settled, his pressed a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, causing him to become flushed. Screw Steve and his way to know exactly what to do to make Bucky so complaisant. With that, Steve leaves, taking the postage bag with him, shutting the door behind. 

Confused, but still mostly tired, Bucky throws himself down, arms thrown over his head to block out as much of the sun that’s streaming in through the now opened curtains. He waits there, like that, until he hears Steve call for him from the lounge room.

It takes a moment for Bucky to notice that something’s different as he looks around the room, cataloguing everything. The only difference to the space is there’s now a protective plastic cover stretched across the couch. “The fuck’s this?” 

Steve smiles at him, completely unphased by Bucky’s obscenity. He’s sitting on the couch, leaned casually against the back as if this was  _ normal _ . He pats the space beside him. Oh no — Bucky’s beginning to recognise that look. Slowly, he slides up to the bed, settling against Steve, tucked tightly against his side, head shoved underneath Steve’s chin. “Don’t be like this,” he says, “it’s a good thing”.

“Sure it is,” Bucky grumbles.

Steve laughs above him — Bucky can feel the rumble of it — mostly to himself. He gives a tight, comforting squeeze to Bucky’s hip. “You wanted to try something,” he says, carefully, but with a teasing undertone, “what did you call it again?  _ Piss stuff _ ?”

“Oh,” Bucky says, feeling almost exposed. He squirms in his spot, a spike of something that feels like either embarrassment or arousal shoots through him (it’s probably both, stupid body — giving him away). He had hoped that Steve had forgotten about it like he had. 

God, he was wishing that could go back in time and stop past-him from blubbering it out like an idiot. 

_ “I wanna try… piss stuff,” Bucky says, eyes screwed shut so he doesn’t have to see Steve’s reaction, even through the pitch-black darkness of their bedroom. _

_ “Piss stuff, huh?” Steve says, Bucky can picture Steve’s raised eyebrow. Suddenly, embarrassed and disgusted for mentioning it, he wishes the bed would swallow him — devoured whole by Egyptian Cotton and pocket springs. “A’right. Gimme a bit”. _

And a bit was given, Bucky guesses, because two weeks later they’re here: Bucky had completely forgotten about it, slipped his mind between work and other, more important, Steve related thoughts.

“Oh,” he repeats, almost breathless, “yeah-”. He bites off the end of the sentence suddenly, not too sure if he should add a  _ Steve  _ or a  _ sir  _ to the end of it.  It sounds too short, too clipped, but Steve pays it no mind.

“Good then,” he says, brightly — he can be filled with child-like enthusiasm when given something worth his time. Bucky gave him an inch, Steve’s going to take a mile and Bucky knows he’s going to be left a mess at the end of the day. From what Bucky could only assume was directly out of his ass, Steve takes out another bottle of water.  “Drink up” he orders, a shiver going down Bucky’s spine. He drinks up, draining most of the bottle in one go. “Good boy”.

Bucky smiles, shifting to get more comfortable, but still snuggled against Steve’s side. He’s as comfortable as he can be, he supposes, considering the plastic sheet is sticky and stiff underneath him.

Flicking on the TV, Steve scrolling through their planner until he lands on one of the many backlogged episodes of  _ Time Team _ — a man in a ridiculous hat passionately speaking gibberish about digging trenches and finding Roman temples. It’s stupid, but he knows Bucky enjoys it. 

They sit in relative silence, one of them occasionally breaking it to comment on the show (“can you believe that human sacrifice was a thing, Steve? _ Human sacrifice _ ”), Bucky taking measured but constant sips of the water. Once he was finished with it, Steve gently pries it from Bucky’s hands, setting it on the coffee table.

It’s nice and, for the rest of the episode, Bucky forgets about what they’re doing: drink gone and used to the plastic beneath him, it feels like every other time they cuddle together. But once the episode is done, Steve’s gently moving him, with the promise of another drink.

Maybe it’s due to Bucky’s slightly loss of lucidity, but it takes a couple of rounds of this routine for him to notice what’s happening: at the beginning of every episode, Steve brings him a new drink, which he drinks, spurred on by Steve’s encouragement and compliments (“you’re a good boy, Buck”, “c’mon, just a couple more sips, baby, you can do it”).

He groans — Steve’s making him drink every hour, on the hour. 

Drink five for the day in, Bucky starts becoming slightly uncomfortable. Not really bursting, but the hunched over position putting more pressure on his bladder than necessary. “Steve?” 

“Yeah, baby? You okay?” he sounds concerned, probably disproportionately so. 

“I need to, uh…”

“What is it? Do you need to go?” he teases.

“No, no. I just need to move. Get comfortable”.

Shifting, they end up settling with Bucky laying on his back, head resting on Steve’s thighs. It’s more difficult to drink like this, but it’s definitely more comfortable so Bucky deals with it, okay with the odd dribble of water escaping his mouth and down his cheek.

Asides from the minor ache whatever he needs to shift to stop himself from sticking to the plastic, it doesn’t feel like anything really. Distractions from Steve and the TV keeps him from thinking about it for a majority of the day. He continues to drink whatever Steve offers him — water, juice, cans of soda (which, Bucky soon realised, was the worse). Steve doesn’t try and push him whenever Bucky needs to take a break from the stress and strain of what’s practically trying to force-feed himself the liquids.

Halfway through some Salvador Dali documentary — because Bucky got too sick of Steve complaining about how idiotic  _ Time Team  _ is:  _ it’s just old guys digging up pottery and coins, Buck, that’s boring _ ,  _ and why do they only have three days? They could do so much better if they had more if they spent more time there _ — Steve nudges Bucky, “head up, Buck”.

Confused, and slightly tired from their lazy day, Bucky looks up at Steve, a stupid “ _ wa _ ?” sound lian half-assed attempt at a question.

“Gotta reach my phone,” he explains, “was gonna order dinner”. A second too slow for Steve’s taste, he takes a large chunk of Bucky’s hair, tugging it so Bucky’s head is off of his lap, causing him to yelp.

“Ow what the shit Steve? I was movin’, Jesus”.

A light tug — a warning one — to Bucky hair shuts him up immediately, “be good,” Steve warns.

Bucky swallows thickly, nodding as best he can with the grip in his hair, “yes, sir,” he says. It’s the first time he’s said it today.

“Good,” Steve says, dropping Bucky’s head harshly after standing up. It doesn’t hurt, bouncing against the soft cushions of the couch, but the suddenness of it is pretty rough on his neck. “What do you want?”

“Don’t care. Not liquid”.

Steve snorts, “yeah, cuz I was thinking about smoothies”.

“I was thinking soup,” Bucky says, then pauses, “although maybe a smoothie wouldn't suck?”

Laughing on the way to the kitchen to check the abundance of takeout menus they have stored in a drawer, “ _ oh no, no liquids _ ” Steve mocks, “ _ but a smoothie maybe _ ?”

Bucky laughs and immediately regrets it. The bubbling of laughter causes him to lose control over his body for a moment, the action causing his bladder to spasm painfully. Curled over slightly, he feels a little piss dribble out. Peering down between his legs, he was thankful to see that none of it leaked through his pants. He mumbles something, under his breath, but it doesn't sound like coherent words. 

“I know I’m funny, but you don’t need to go pissing yourself with laughter,” Steve says, sounding and looking more than proud of himself.

“Hardy har,” Bucky deadpans back. It's the most he can do, considering.  _ You're a real comedic genius _ , he adds in his head but can't verbalise it — too many words.

“Quiet you, or I’ll do something about it”. Bucky quiets, snapping his mouth shut — it’s no idle threat and he knows Steve would absolutely do something about it and it’s never something as enjoyable or simple as a ball gag. “Thai or Italian?” About to reply —  _ Italian, obviously  _ — but he doesn’t. Rolling his eyes, Steve smiles affectionately, “oh, so  _ now  _ you decide to be smart”. 

Bucky sucks in a breath.  He down the rest of his drink.

Steve doesn’t bother announcing what he decided on, ordering from the kitchen. If he wanted to, Bucky could eavesdrop from there, but decides against it. If Steve wanted him to know, he would have let Bucky pick. Although, not knowing gives Bucky a little swirl of anxiety, especially after saying  _ not soup _ . Instead, he watches the TV, an ad for shower cleaner is on and it’s more interesting than the Dali documentary was.

Walking back into the lounge room, Steve places another bottle of orange juice on the table, Bucky reaching for it. “Nuh-uh,” Steve says, pushing the bottle out of Bucky’s reach, “you’re coming with me”.

Groaning, Bucky stands, peeling himself off the plastic of the couch. He doesn’t get too far, a couple of step away, before he’s feeling a shooting pain in his gut. It felt like he was being stabbed with the end of an offset spatula. Propping himself against the arm of the couch, Bucky tries to regain his balance. 

It doesn’t take too long for Steve to be back by  his side, holding onto Bucky, “are you okay?” he asks, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah, just… I’m fine. Shocked”.

“Do you still want to come with me?” Steve asks. Nodding, Bucky tries to take another step but it’s too much, the movement causing his bladder to spasm painfully. His death-like grip returns to the arm of the couch. “Do you think you could crawl?”

Sinking slowly to his knees, Bucky bits back a groan, and crawls and few tentative steps. The crawling is okay if he takes it slow; it’s much better than walking. Although, for a moment, he wonders, dumbly, if the verticalness of walking forces everything downwards. Confused, Bucky follows Steve through the house, who walks slower than normal ahead of him — Bucky’s not too sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to rush, or because he wants Bucky to suffer a slow crawl.

_ Crap  _ — was the first thought that went there Bucky’s mind when he realised where they were heading. Although, worryingly, he isn’t too sure  _ why _ . Steve slides the fluffy toilet mat across the ground, pointing to it, “kneel on that”. 

Bucky kneels, the reality of what’s happening dawning on him, as he watches Steve take himself out of his jeans, and, after a moment, starts peeing.jeans

Bucky tries not to watch too closely, staring mostly at the wall directly behind Steve. It's harder to block out the noise though — the hissing and sputtering sounds — and it makes Bucky press his thighs together in an effort to stop himself. Forced to fully acknowledge the fullness of his bladder now, he squirms, unable to ignore just how much he needs to go. It's bordering on unbearable. 

He doesn't though, because Steve hasn't told him to.

“You're like one of those virtual videos of those dogs that follows their master everywhere, even the bathroom,” Steve says, then thinks for a moment, “actually, that's exactly what you are". 

Bucky squirms again, this time it's definitely not the fault of his bladder 

After flushing the toilet and washing his hands, Steve taps his thigh as he whistles — like Bucky's a dog. Following him out to the lounge room, Bucky says, “I thought you would, y’know, use my mouth”. 

Steve shrugs, plopping on the couch, “maybe next time,” he says with a non-committed tone. Although, and maybe it's just Bucky's wishful thinking, there's a hint of possibility in Steve's tone. Bucky smiles at the thought. 

Steve pats his thigh, like one would do for their lapdog and Bucky, of course, acts accordingly, pounces up onto Steve's lap, curling against Steve's body. The position isn't particularly forgiving, but the mental image of Bucky looking like Steve's lapdog is enough to make up for the fact that Bucky needs to double his efforts in order not to piss himself.

Not yet, anyways. 

Closing his eyes, Bucky settles in, not sleeping but just resting. Although he does crack open an eyes when he feels the rip of the bottle of orange juice being pressed against his lips. Automatically, Bucky opens his mouth and let’s Steve pour the juice into his mouth.

Bucky’s able to swallow it down easily enough at first. Although, when Steve starts tipping more down his throat, it becomes harder for him to swallow. Some of it leaks down Bucky’s chin and begins to wet his shirt. Eventually, the bottle runs out and Steve stops, adding the bottle to the expansive collection of bottles and can gathering on the ground beside the couch.

Bucky’s panting heavily, “you suck,” he says, but allows Steve to pull him onto his lap.

“I thought I told you to shut it”.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “That was, like, twenty minutes ago. I forgot”.

Steve pinches the meat of Bucky’s thigh, making him cry out. “Of course you did,” Steve teases. He doesn’t seem to hold it against Bucky though, seeing as he doesn’t try to move Bucky off his lap, instead he pulls him into a kiss.

It’s open-mouthed and messy, Bucky clings to the short hairs at the nape of Steve’s neck. Steve’s lips are chapped —  _ like usual  _ — but they fit perfectly against Bucky’s. Long kisses with scrapes of teeth, Bucky moans into Steve’s mouth, who traces his hands up Bucky’s thighs, gently massaging over Bucky’s stomach: not pushing, but leaving a heavy weight against Bucky’s bladder. Bucky shudders, a breathy gasp that gets eaten up by Steve as he flicks his tongue against Bucky’s. Arching into Steve touch, Bucky groans, feeling Steve’s tongue flick against his own, sucking on it lightly. 

Steve moves further down, kissing his way from jaw to neck. The gentle kisses become soft sucking and then rough bites as he presses harder down on Bucky’s stomach. After a particularly harsh bite to his pulse point, an almost inhuman sound comes from Bucky’s throat. It sounds like a gaspy  _ ahh!  _ that gets cut off before the screamer can commit.

_ Oh  _ — that’s a new sound.

Smarting bites back up Bucky’s neck, Steve nips along the edge of Bucky’s jaw and places a quick peck on both sides of Bucky’s mouth. Steve takes Bucky’s bottom lip between his teeth causing Bucky to whine, hips bucking into Steve’s thigh, grounding against the coarseness of Steve’s jeans. 

Steve laughs into Bucky’s mouth, quickly pushing onto Bucky’s stomach. Bucky pulls back with a sharp intake of breath, resting his head in the crook of Steve’s shoulder, tears nearly forming in his eyes —  _ God _ , he’s almost bursting. Steve’s about to say something when there’s a knock on the door, pulling Bucky from his kiss-addled daze. “That must be the delivery guy,” Steve says, casually, “why don't you answer the door, Buck”. 

It wasn't a suggestion. 

On shaky legs, like a newly born deer, Bucky walks to the door. Supporting himself on whatever is in arm’s reach as he stumbles across the room to the door. It’s almost too much to focus on at once — walking and keeping everything inside of him — and with Steve’s eyes practically burning holes in Bucky’s back, the unfortunate extra of  _ having to please Steve  _ making him feel as though he’s sweating bullets.

Once he reaches the door, he opens it with weak hands, shaky turning the deadbolt. His fine motor skills leave a lot to be desired and the pimple-faced delivery guy probably notices, judging by his look of concern. Stumbling over his words, Bucky’s barely able to get past  _ yes this is that address  _ before he’s left dumbly staring.

Out of what feels like thin air, Steve slides up behind him, taking control of the situation, some bullshit lie of Bucky being  _ too drunk  _ being the excuse of Bucky's inability to carry out the simple exchange, as if the kid didn’t know who they were.

Arms supporting Bucky, Steve walks them back to the couch after heading to the kitchen for utensils, settling Bucky to the side before taking out the contents: a takeaway container of something noodle-based (which Steve puts aside for later) and another container, filled with something liquid.

_ No soup _ , Bucky had said,  _ no liquids _ .

Manhandling Bucky onto his lap — a terrible position for his gut — Steve opens the lid, the smell of coconut making Bucky’s mouth water. “I’m gonna feed you, a’right?” Steve says into Bucky’s ear, oddly sweet and BUcky can only nod dumbly.

After a few mouthfuls of the broth — Steve avoiding all the vegetables and prawns in the soup — Bucky starts to lose track of everything around him, his focus on the pleasant and light-headed feeling that’s struggling to compete with the pain of his overfilled bladder. Sweat starts forming, coating his body in a thin layer of it. Between mouthfuls, Bucky groans, shifting, legs spreading a little, which helps alleviate the pressure some — it feels near orgasmic. 

Unfortunately, with the more relaxed it means Bucky begins to leak: a small but steady stream of it, slightly wetting the material of his sweats. “You alright, Buck?” Steve says, lowering the bowl. The softness of Steve’s voice makes Bucky sob a bit. “ _ Aw _ , did you have a little accident?” Steve talking to him like a child. Another sob, Bucky nods, embarrassment flooding his body. Stumbling over his words, Bucky says something, a garbled mess of  _ sorry _ s and  _ I didn’t mean to _ s. “Do you want to keep going, or stop?”

Bucky tries to think, but he can’t. Confused and stressed and only thoughts being a stream of  _ pleasepleaseplease _ , and for a moment, he thinks he had managed to say it out loud. He just nods, not completely sure he’s saying  _ yes  _ to, sobbing. “You gotta use your words, babe; what do you want?”

“I w-want… I want to- I want  _ more _ ”.

“More? More what? This?” Steve says, pressing the flat of his palm against Bucky’s gut, pushing but quickly releasing, “or this?” sliding his hands lower, rubbing the bulge in Bucky’s sweats.

“Yes, that. Please, both.  _ Sir _ ,” Bucky ruts into the hand, crying out, “ _ it hurts _ ”.

“I can’t give you something if you don’t tell me”.

Bucky presses his face into Steve’s, his hands tightly grip at Steve’s shirt, bit-back nails digging weakly into the skin of his back. “I need to —  _ oh God  _ —  _ please _ ”.

Steve kisses the exposed neck of Bucky, hand softening over his tangled hair, trying his best to seperate the knots, before trailing his hand downwards, rubbing soothing circles over Bucky’s tense, trembling back. “ _ Shh _ ,  _ shh,  _ I got you”.

Bucky sniffles, “ _ Fuck _ ”.

Steve just shushes him again, pressing a kiss just underneath Bucky’s ear. Continuing to palm Bucky’s dick with one hand, the other one comes around to start massaging Bucky’s aching stomach. He can feel Bucky shudder against him, thighs clenching and muscles tense as it working overtime to keep himself from pissing. 

Bucky chokes back a groan, trying to thrust further into the hand rubbing his cock, without forcing himself to press rock into the hand pushing into his bladder. He squirms around, a sensations overload, a little too much but also not enough, and he digs his nails harder into the muscles of Steve’s back. “ _ Please _ ,” he begs.

“ _ Please _ ? Please, what?”

“Please,  _ sir _ ,” Bucky’s voice is strained.

Grabbing a handful of Bucky’s hair, Steve takes his hand away from Bucky’s clothed dick, bringing it to Bucky’s face. The smell of piss filling Bucky’s nose immediately, making him groan in embarrassment, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. It’s more of a smell than anything, but the ball of his thumb does glisten slightly with the piss that he picked up from rubbing it against the wet patch on Bucky’s pants. “Go on,” Steve urges, ignoring Bucky’s request, “aren’t you gonna be a good boy and clean up your mess?”

Bucky shutters, panting, cock twitching at Steve’s words. Bowing his head, Bucky flicks his tongue out to lick a long line up the meaty part of Steve’s hand. It tastes mostly like nothing, a little salty — mostly from Steve’s skin, Bucky assumes — and a sharp bitterness. It’s not entirely unpleasant, but he’s able to swallow it without having to fight against any urges to spit it back up. “That’s it,” Steve says, calming voice a stark contrast to his harsh words, “look at you, licking your piss up from my hand;  _ disgusting _ ”.

Bucky gasps, breathing going heavy as Steve releases Bucky’s hair, doubling down on the pressure on his gut. Once Steve deems his hand clean enough he pulls away, using it to steady Bucky’s quivering body instead. “Please sir, I need to… let me go  _ please _ ”.

“Go where?”

“Fuck.  _ Steve _ . I need to piss”.

“Alright,” Steve says, pulling his hands away, “off you trot”.

“What? No-!”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Steve picks up Bucky effortlessly, sitting back down with his back to the armrest, Bucky lounging against Steve’s chest between his legs. “ _ Shh _ , calm down,” Steve says, “come on then. I won’t stop you. Let go, go on: piss yourself”.

“Steve,  _ fuck _ ,” Bucky practically  _ whimpers _ , cheeks flushed with embarrassment, his face balled up and contorted in desperate, disgusting pleasure.  _ This  _ is the look that Steve longs to see: Bucky unraveled and sobbing, a red-faced mess with dazed eyes. 

Eyes screwed up and body shaking, Bucky finally legs go.

Crying, full on  _ wailing _ , Bucky grips Steve’s legs on either side of him, nails digging in harshly to the shins. Almost immediately, the piss starts to spread across Bucky’s lap, wet and warm, darkening the fabric of his sweats. The hissing sound of piss loud and lewd, pattering against the plastic of the protector. Barely able to crack open an eye, Bucky looks down at his nap — vision completely blurred with tears — but he sees the dark fabric, the pool of piss that’s puddling in the space between his legs. Moaning weakly at the feeling of release, Bucky shutters, toes curling, as he rides out the pleasure.

Finally —  _ finally  _ — it seems to finally settle down, stream becoming weak and Bucky eventually goes lax against Steve, brain hazy. 

He doesn’t know if he blacked out, but he did drift somewhere other than  _ here _ , because, when he comes back from the clouds, he can hear Steve whispering nonsensical praise in his ear. Groggily, Bucky squeezes Steve knee —  _ I’m good _ . “Nice of you to come back,” Steve says, sounding like he was smiling. Bucky hums concomitantly. “Do you want us to do something about this?” 

“ _ Uh _ ?” trailing his hands down Bucky’s front, shirt still wet from having juice on it, Steve rests his hands just above the waistband of Bucky’s pants. Oh, right — from the excitement he felt of  _ finally  _ being able to pee, he had completely forgotten about his erection, wilted slightly from lack of attention. “Not right now”. Steve snaps the waistband, quick and sudden, making Bucky yelp, “what was that for?”

“Because I wanted to”.

Bucky rolls around, getting comfortable on his side as he cuddles up to Steve lap, “lemme sleep”.

Rolling his eyes, Steve pinches Bucky’s slight muffin top. “I know that  _ you’re  _ someone who likes to stew in their own  _ filth _ , but  _ I’m  _ not. Bath, now”.

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be pre-war Stucky but then I forgot.  
> A̶n̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶i̶n̶s̶t̶a̶l̶l̶m̶e̶n̶t̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶‘̶P̶l̶a̶c̶i̶o̶s̶e̶x̶u̶a̶l̶ ̶T̶r̶i̶e̶s̶ ̶T̶o̶ ̶W̶r̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶S̶m̶u̶t̶’̶ ̶s̶e̶r̶i̶e̶s̶.̶


End file.
